Elocution
by WriterlyWitching
Summary: In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire hurricanes hardly ever happen. Narcissa muses on elocution, and the hurricane that is her husband. One-shot/Drabble. T for themes.


Elocution

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In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire hurricanes hardly ever happen.

That was what a teenaged Narcissa Black had been told during her elocution lessons. Repeat, repeat, repeat after me, no not like that, slow down, and don't slouch! Her teacher, Mrs. Paddock had sounded like a broken record. It's not that she pronounced it wrong per say, but that after she'd mastered "Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire" she rushed through the rest, the words tripping over her tongue on the way out, and the h's more often than not getting lost en-route.

Perhaps her failings in elocution lessons had been a foreshadowing of sorts, of the path she would take. Savouring the places, Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire, the restaurants her would take her to, the people he knew, the size of the engagement ring he gave her, and the name 'Narcissa Malfoy' glittering ahead, like that diamond, to lead her to a glittering future. To lead her to this. This hell.

Because she'd forgotten, hadn't she, the second part. Didn't really matter, hurricanes hardly ever happen, skipped over, she'd done the important bit. Hurricaneshardlyeverhappen. Hurricanes. Danger, disaster, upheaval, everything you love torn asunder. Houses with their innards ripped out and strewn where you might never find them again. Utter devastation, and just because they hardly ever happen doesn't mean it can't happen to you. Hardly means that it sometimes does, surely, but she'd been too busy becoming Mrs Malfoy to consider what only sometimes, very rarely happens, and the possibility that it might happen to her.

And she'd certainly lost something en-route as well. Those breathy little h's might have finally found their way in to her speech, but now they were dead sounds, only inflected with the tremor of fear, of barely contained tears, the gasps of terrified sobs.

In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire hurricanes hardly ever happen.

She wondered what Mrs Paddock might have said, were Narcissa to inform her that she didn't know about Hertford, or Hereford, but in Hampshire, hurricanes certainly did happen, and far too frequently for her liking. Except that hurricanes in Hampshire had shed the format of the elements, and hidden themselves, waiting to inflict their devastation, in husbands.

In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire hurricanes hardly ever happen.

But what other word was there to describe her husband? Lucius was most definitely a hurricane. The first time she had experienced an inkling of her husband's true nature it had been passion, not rage, which had torn her inside out. She ought to have known, looking at the blood on their marriage bed and the blue hand shaped marks around her wrists that it was much more sinister. His rage could rip though their house in a minute, splintering any happy memories its walls had held, shattering trust, breaking promises.

Bruises, blood and broken bones.

That rage had been a force to be reckoned with. But even those storms of anger had been easier to weather than what he had brought on them now. At least before they could escape, take shelter from his rains. Before he'd gone to Hogwarts, when his father had been in one of his rages, Narcissa would gather Draco up and apparate him to a muggle park, to the beach, to get ice cream, anything to get away from Lucius' tempest temper, and she would spend a few golden hours in the sun with her precious child while they waited for the clouds to dissipate.

Now their home was a prison, their only son was a cold, distant shell, and there could be no more time in the sun. Lucius had seen to that when he had manipulated Draco into getting the mark, just as he had once manipulated her into wearing his ring. Playing host to the megalomaniac her husband had invited gladly into their house, Narcissa had never felt cold winds like it.

In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire hurricanes hardly ever happen.

She might as well have rushed into the storm with her arms wide open, just a Lucius had flung their door wide open to this destruction.

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A/N: This wouldn't stop bothering me until I wrote it, elocution lessons seem like the kind of thing the Black's would have subjected their children to, and this phrase/idea kept coming back to me.

I know that canonically Malfoy Manor is in Wiltshire, but Hampshire is a neighbouring county, it's not a drastic shift, I just wanted to make this work.

I'm borrowing from Jo, nothing you recognise from the HP franchise is mine. Neither is "In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire hurricanes hardly ever happen" but I don't know the origins of that. I would be interested if anyone knows? It appears in 'My Fair Lady,' but I'm fairly certain it's older?

I'd love to know what you think and am always open to suggestions/criticism!

If you've read, please review!


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